


Baby's Got His Blue Jeans On

by compo67



Series: Punzel Verse [14]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bad Days, Bottom Jared, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, POV Jensen, Porn with Feelings, Post Mpreg, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Top Jensen Ackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a terrible day full of dealing with problems and people, Jensen forgets to bring his lunch to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby's Got His Blue Jeans On

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On by Mel McDaniel while you read! <3

 

Today has been one of those days Jensen just wants to forget about.

He works at a rooftop community garden, doing what he loves, but he would love nothing more than to toss his hands up and yell, “I tap out!”

Of course, that’s not what adults do.

He got into three separate fights today and it’s not even noon. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a ten second break in between calling the soil company and looking over the invoices from last week so he can catch up with this week’s.

The orchid guy overcharged them _again_ —that was the first fight at nine in the morning. The tulip dude undercharged them _and_ mixed up their order by bringing yellow instead of white—that was at ten thirty. When Jensen managed to run from responsibility for a coffee break, Matilda informed him that she was all out of the lemon cake Jared had baked yesterday.

Today is awful.

Antonio’s wife had an emergency involving hair spray and their eleven and eight year old girls, so he left twenty minutes ago. Ken is on a much needed vacation. At eleven thirty, Jensen sends the intern from UCLA home. Joy is great at helping out, but she’s too full of cheer and sunshine for his current mood. Thankfully, there’s only one patron to usher out, and that’s Bill, who always stops by and understands that Jensen just needs time to compress.

“You should meditate,” Bill offers, on his way out. “Connect with a higher being.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Jensen just wants to be alone. He can only deal with so much extroversion at a time.

Jensen closes the gardens for an hour while he’s by himself, which is reasonable and within his right to do. But he has to deal with the invoices, next week’s orders, shipments, and maintenance. Unfortunately, he also realizes that he forgot his lunch, but there’s no way in hell he’s leaving the gardens now.

This day just needs to end.

As he starts walking through the gardens, towards the stairs so he can get to his office, his phone receives a text message.

Rhonda. Huh. Jensen stops walking and swipes through to see the complete message: _Look over the ledge._ That’s cryptic. Figuring that he might as well do what Rhonda texts, Jensen goes back to the ledge. The building itself is three floors above ground. While the view of downtown Santa Monica at fifteen past noon is attractive, Jensen does not see the point.

“Does this have a reason or are you trying to throw tomatoes at me?” Jensen asks, texting back. He peers over briefly.

A second later—because Rhonda is lighting with texts—he receives the command to keep looking. After that, he is told to focus on the opposite side of the street. All he sees is the stupid smoothie shop, the boring copy place, and the sandwich shop that always gets his order wrong.

And then, he sees the point.

Rounding the corner, walking onto Santa Monica Boulevard, are miles of long, shapely legs, accented by fitted jeans ripped in the knees. Jensen’s line of sight works up to the sway and curve of hips; the jeans settle at just the right place for a peek at tantalizing hipbones.

Further north is the stripe of a soft, pink middle, peeking out from a baby doll shirt.

Jensen’s jaw drops.

He stares openly as the figure turns around for a moment.

Luscious thighs lead up to a round, pert, firm ass.

That’s the kind of ass you grab with both hands and _squeeze_.

Jensen grips onto the ledge. He can’t. Holy shit. Turned around once more, the figure proves to have their hair swept up in a fancy ponytail, with pieces of wavy hair cascading down, the tips curling near a generous, pink, shiny mouth. The effect is completed with a pair of sleek, dark sunglasses.

The figure swings a tote bag from their hands and crosses the street.

Holy shit.

Oh god.

Jensen trips over his own feet and stumbles forward, scrambling to get to a sink. He’s a fucking mess. After the morning he’s had, he decided that he would do some planting and bedding. When he started moving trays of flowers, he started to sweat, and today is one of those days where he put on deodorant, but it gave up half an hour ago. Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

Panicking, Jensen’s hands are shaking. He might be having a nosebleed in a few seconds.

Jared has his own key to the gardens.

The Converse sneakers he’s wearing are soundless, so Jensen doesn’t immediately hear him. He turns from the sink and gets a glimpse at _the_ moment—the moment when Jared flips his sunglasses up and shakes his hair out of the ponytail, sending silky waves tumbling down.

Some kind of noise escapes Jensen’s mouth, because hazel eyes look over.

And then the dimples flash.

“Jesus fuck,” Jensen blurts out, twisting the paper towel he has in his hands.

The outfit is simple but not simple. The jeans sing. The baby doll tee teases with a flirty show of Jared’s middle. There is no way Jensen was meant to win this battle, nor would he want to.

“No swearing,” Jared quips, smiling wide. He holds up the plastic bag. “I brought you lunch, Jen.”

Jensen pounces. Screw lunch.

He’s going to fuck Jared into next week.

 

Travel sized packets of lube are the best inventions ever, right up there with washable markers and baby slings. Jensen is so hard, he uses two packets and leaves the rest up to god’s good graces.

They’re in a supply shed, with the door half open for light. Jared has his hands planted against the wall, his ass pushed out, his legs spread, and those jeans pulled down just enough.

This is going to be fast and rough.

He rolls on a condom, slicks himself up, and lines their hips up. Two hands are kept on Jared’s hips at all times—for leverage and because Jensen has to. He has to grope and squeeze and slap and feel himself pound into Jared so deep, it makes Jared shudder. Garden tools hung on the walls of the shed rattle. Jensen works into the heat and squelch of Jared, closing his eyes and allowing his hips to snap forward at a desperate pace. The pressure around his cock increases. Jared works back against him, wringing his own pleasure from being fucked, shouting when the tip of Jensen’s cock hits that spot.

 _This_ was walking down the street for everyone to see.

Jensen bears his weight down with every thrust of his hips. He’s sweating with the effort, the muscles in his arms flexing as he cups Jared’s ass and holds him open. One, two, three long, slow strokes, followed by onetwothree short, brutal fucks.

The bounce of Jared’s ass encourages Jensen to fuck him harder.

Winding his hips up, Jensen breathes in—vanilla and California sun.

He wrings out one orgasm out of Jared, the kind where Jared’s words slur together and his fingers twitch.

Surrounded by tight, slick, contracting heat, Jensen comes, fucking a scream, a shout, and another orgasm out of Jared.

Buried, Jensen empties himself completely.

When he pulls out, wheezing and panting, he peels the condom off, ties it, and chucks it into a wastebasket. It’s a good idea, he thinks, to zip up his jeans. His hands fumble with the zipper after he tucks himself back in. Damn zipper. He then has to sit on a crate and try to remember what life was like before he was a shaking, fucked out mess.

Of course, Jared swings into mommy mode. He turns around, cleans himself up with a handkerchief he had in his back pocket, and pulls his jeans back up. He throws the handkerchief away.

Leaning against the wall, Jared smiles lazily, looking pleased.

“I really did bring you lunch,” is said with a Texan drawl. “Jen? Are you okay?”

The start of round two aches in Jensen’s lower stomach.

“Uh huh.”

Jared’s right hand reaches back to the pocket of those jeans.

Tongue peeking out of his megawatt smile, Jared pulls out another condom and holds it up.

The tote bag full of sushi goes untouched.

**Author's Note:**

> quick upload before work! just these two being crazy about each other... in a shed... XD


End file.
